I'll Be Home for Christmas (If Only in My Dreams)
by manahawai
Summary: Three years. Christmas time again. Sherlock's been dead for three years. Or has he? Well, he's been gone for three years. I guess it's time for a little Christmas reunion.


**I'll Be Home for Christmas**

Sherlock stood outside of 221B in the snow and the early hours of Christmas day. Three years had come and gone since he dove off of the roof of Bart's, he tried to do his job quickly but it still took three _long _years. The detective shifted from one foot to the other before finally making up his mind, he picked the lock and entered the warmth of his flat. He could smell Mrs. Hudson's baking from the hall slowly he made his way to 221A. Her back was to him when he entered the kitchen washing up her holiday plates.

_"Mrs. Hudson," _he called.

_"Not your house keeper, dear." _She replied automatically as she set down another plate, her had flew to her heart as she turned slowly toward his voice. _"Sh-Sherlock?" _

_"Happy Christmas, Mrs__. Hudson." _He gave her a small smile. The old woman slowly crossed the room with her frail, shaking hand outstretched toward him.

_"I-I think I need to lie down."_ She stammered after her hand made contact with his very real chest.

_"Where's John?" _ He asked as he steadied her into a chair by the table.

_"He's upstairs. I think he's still asleep." _He kissed her cheek before turning to leave. _"Are you staying for the party tonight?" _Mrs. Hudson asked when he was by the door.

_"Of course, I'll even play a __song for you. If you'd like?" _She nodded eagerly as her eyes filled with tears.

John was lying in bed he wasn't sleeping, just laying there. He always came back for Christmas Mrs. Hudson insisted that he come for the party every year. Three years. Three Christmases since Sherlock jumped. He rolled over and stared at the wall. He could smell Mrs. Hudson's baking the flat was too quiet. He couldn't stand being in the bed any longer slowly he got up and made his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Just himself, never Sherlock anymore because the detective wasn't there to ignore the cups John would make him until the doctor wasn't looking.

Sherlock slowly made his way up the stairs he could hear John moving about, making tea. The detective waited until he was sure that the doctor was sitting in his chair.

_"Mrs. Hudson?" _John called from where he was seated when Sherlock opened the door. _"I just made tea. Would you like some?" _

_"Tea would be lovely, yes." _Sherlock drawled, a smirk spread across his lips when he heard the mug clatter to the floor.

_"Who's there?" _John said calmly without turning to look at him.

_"John," _he tsked. _"You and I both know that your gun is in your room and that you won't be able to bludgeon me to death with the poker." _

_"Who. __Are. You." _John growled.

_"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street."_ He said crossing the room until he was standing across from the doctor.

_"Sherlock."_

_"John."_

_ "You're dead."_

_ "Evidently not." _

_ "I saw you fall."_

_ "Did you see me hit the ground?"_

_ "I-I saw your head cracked open and I checked your pulse!" _

_"But did you SEE me his the ground, John?" _

_"A bicyclist knocked me to the ground before then." _John said as he still refused to look Sherlock in the eye.

_"I had to John. M__oriarty was threatening to kill Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you." _

_ "So, what? It was either you or us?" _John asked.

_"Exactly. Obviously I couldn't let him kill you." _Silence settled over the flat, snow continued falling outside the window, and the doctor looked anywhere but at the detective. _"John," _

_"Three years, you know." _He said in a calm voice.

_"I do. I wasn't planning on being gone this long, but Moriarty had a bigger web than I originally anticipated."_

_"Who else knows?"_

_ "Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Mycroft." _He replied. _"John," _

_"What?" _John snapped.

_"Will you please look at me?" _

_"Why? You made me believe you were dead for three years. I think you should-"_

_ "I haven't seen you in three years," _he interrupted as he rose from his chair. _"John." _Sherlock reached for John's chin and forced the doctor to look at him.

_"Sherlock," _He could see everything. The weight loss, the depression, the pain, and the betrayal Sherlock gasped and jumped back.

_"I wouldn't change my decision, John." _

_"I know and I'm not asking you to. " _John replied as he stood. _"Just," _he took a deep breath. _"__Stay. Don't do anything like that again." _

_ "No, I'm here to stay." _

They didn't talk much after that, just sat and moved in a companionable silence. Everyone came. Lestrade threw his gifts at Sherlock's head and downed a pint. Molly apologized to everyone profusely through tears and broken sobs. Mrs. Hudson pulled Sherlock into embraces at random times. Sherlock played his violin and the older woman dabbed at the tears in her eyes. It wasn't until much later in the dark that John made his way back to the sitting room where the detective was standing by the window.

_"Sherlock," he called quietly._

_"Hmm?" _he grunted but didn't turn.

_"I didn't get you a present." _

_"I didn't get you one either, John. I thought it would look like a petty peace offering."_

_ "Nonsense." _John scolded, the detective looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

_"I wouldn't have looked like a peace offering?" _

_"You got me the best Christmas present, Sherlock." _John grinned as the detective finally turned to face him.

_"What are you on about, John?"_

_"You came back. That's all I've wanted since you died. And now I got it." _Sherlock made a face until John's infectious smile hit him. He grinned at the shorter man until a bang on the door pulled him away.

Sherlock's eyes flew open, he stared up at the rotting ceiling of the old motel he was in for a moment before remembering where he was.

_**"I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams." **_The song travelled through the thin walls on one side of him on the other he could hear police raiding the meeting between some of Moriarty's men. He sighed and sat up in the bed, outside he could see lights twinkling on houses and trees in the distance.

After everything was cleaned up and John was by himself again he slowly made his way to Sherlock's old room. Nothing had changed. Mrs. Hudson had left it as it sat as the last day he had slept in it. He slowly shuffled his feet over toward the bed and sat down.

_"__Mary was right," _he said to the empty room. _"__I should have gone with her to her parent's." _He fell back and closed his eyes. _"__Merry Christmas, Sherlock."_

The detective sat on the edge of the uncomfortable bed and watched the police pass his window. He thought about Mrs. Hudson's pies and John's ridiculous Christmas jumpers.

_"__Merry Christmas, John." _His deep baritone voice sliced through the darkness before he got up to start moving again. He had work to do.

_**The End**_


End file.
